Home Remedy
by TwistingMoonbeam
Summary: ONE-SHOT. Takes place after "The Hand That Rocks the Mabel." Dipper's patching up his injuries and Grunkle Stan decides to help, in only the way Grunkle Stan can. R&R please!


**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Hello readers! Please note that this fanfic takes place right after the events of "The Hand That Rocks the Mabel." Thanks so much and enjoy!

TwistingMoonbeam

**Home Remedy: A Gravity Falls Oneshot**

**x.X.x.**

"Yowch!"

Dipper winced as he dabbed Neosporin on a cut. Even if Gideon was a weird little brat, he sure knew how to do a number on someone when he was crossed. Dipper frowned down at his tattered clothes and bruises, vision impaired because of his black eye. He hadn't felt this crummy since the dodge ball tournament he'd been forced to endure in the last gym class of the last school year. What was he going to do now? This was his only outfit!

A lump lodged itself in Dipper's throat when his mind reeled back to those lamb shears coming right for him. "If it hadn't been for Mabel, my _outfit _wouldn't be the only thing ripped up," he muttered, absentmindedly adjusting his hat. "Since when do I even _care _about clothes? That's Mabel's department…"

Speaking of Mabel, Dipper couldn't help but feel a little proud. His twin had learned an important lesson today: how to say no. Sure, it had taken Gideon almost chopping Dipper in half for her to finally put her foot down, but it was a victory for his sister, nonetheless.

The day had been weird—nothing new to isolated, wacky little Gravity Falls. Against his better judgment, he and Mabel had come to spend the summer with their conniving Grunkle Stan and his ricky old Mystery Shack. But, as it turned out, Gravity Falls was _crawling _with mysteries—both literally and figuratively, Dipper mused in his head, remembering the strange, terrifying hoard of orange spiders with wings he and Mabel had stumbled upon the other day. Every day brought a new adventure, from wax figures that came to life, to gnomes trying to marry his sister, to the local kook building a mechanical Gobblewonker to win back his unimpressed son. And today brought the greatest threat yet: Gideon.

"Until tomorrow," Dipper chuckled, lifting his bangs to put a band-aid on a cut above his eye. "Gideon thinks he's big now, but I have a _preeeeetty _good feeling his threats are as empty as that huge thing of hair of his—ow!"

Cringing as the Neosporin burned through a long cut on his elbow, Dipper went on angrily, "Ugh, the next time I see that preschooler, I'm gonna show him what it means to mess with…_the Big Dipper!_" He struck a bodybuilder pose into the bathroom mirror, wincing as his body protested the sudden movement.

"Kid?"

Dipper almost fell off the stool he was standing on to reach the mirror. Grunkle Stan stood in the bathroom doorway, scruffy eyebrows raised at his Great-nephew. He was dressed in his normal home attire of a stained tank top, boxers, wrinkled socks, slippers, and his fez.

"Um…" Looking around, Grunkle Stan shoved a hand into his bag of Chocosaur Dinosaur-Shaped Chocolate Chip Cookies—_the Jurassic Snack! _"Whaddya doin' in here?"

"Oh!" Dipper felt his face go red. This wasn't the first time Grunkle Stan had accidentally walked in on him doing something embarrassing—at least he hadn't caught him singing to BABBA yet. "I'm, uh, just cleaning myself up. Gideon left a couple marks." He gestured to himself and the Neosporin, tissues, and box of band-aids sitting on the edge of the sink.

Grunkle Stan's eyes glossed over Dipper and narrowed. "Gideon did all that to you?"

"It's not that bad," Dipper said, shrugging. "I guess it's partly my own fault. He set up this whole thing to trap me in a warehouse. I should've seen it coming." He scoffed, checking out his body for any more cuts. "Toby Determined is gonna be hearing from me _real _soon."

Grunkle Stan nodded, thoughtful. "What about your, uh, eye?"

"My eye? Oh yeah." Dipper touched it lightly, flinching at the pain in his socket. "I'm waiting to deal with it." He picked up a list sitting on the toilet seat and scanned through it. "I marked down all the injuries I sustained and I'm tackling one at a time, according to severity. I'm gonna hit the Web when I'm done here." He smiled awkwardly at his Grunkle, embarrassed. "I don't exactly know the procedure for a black eye."

"Steak."

Dipper glanced up, baffled.

Grunkle Stan rolled his eyes. "That dumb Inter-whatever's only gonna teach you so much. Come on."

Dipper followed Grunkle Stan back to the kitchen, curious. They were both careful to be quiet and tiptoe on the creaky wooden floor—upstairs, Mabel had already gone to bed. In the kitchen, he watched as Grunkle Stan reached into the freezer and took out a frozen steak the size of his torso.

"Put it on your eye," Grunkle Stan instructed, handing it to him. "It'll stop the swelling."

Dipper made a face. "Are you sure? Is it clean? If it's germy, I really don't—"

"Dipper." Grunkle Stan scowled at him. "Put the steak on your eye."

Dipper obliged, placing the hunk of meat on his black eye. It was colder than it looked, and he bit back a squeal of surprise. Grunkle Stan had already caught him posing into a mirror; he didn't need to hear his twelve-year old Great-nephew _squeal _over a little cold.

"Haven't you ever watched the cartoons?" Grunkle Stan asked, chomping down on a chocolate chip T-Rex.

"The…cartoons?" Dipper replied, momentarily taking the steak off his eye. His purpled eyelids were freezing, but even Dipper wasn't dense enough to not know that meant it was working.

"Yeah! Ya'know, Tim and Gary, the old cat and mouse cartoon?" Grunkle Stan continued, sitting across from Dipper at the kitchen table. "Tim chases Gary, Gary sets up the rake, Tim runs into the rake, gets a black eye, and the next scene shows Tim icing it with a tenderloin?"

"Uhh…" Dipper rubbed his arm, fingers running over his T-shirt and bandages. "I wasn't one for cartoons growing up. That was Mabel."

"You're missin' out, kid," Grunkle Stan, scrutinizing a chocolate chip Triceratops he must have found suspicious. "If you weren't watchin' cartoons, what were you doin'?"

"I guess…doing those puzzles on the back of cereal boxes?" Dipper said. "And I spent a lot of time in the woods."

"Lemme guess," Grunkle Stan said, the teasing in his voice palpable. "Huntin' for monsters?"

"_Trying _to hunt for monsters," Dipper corrected. "I never found anything." He felt Journal #3 through his vest, knowing those long summer afternoons of tirelessly scouring the forest for cryptids and paranormal oddities were over.

"Well, yeah." The _duh _went unspoken, but Dipper practically heard it screamed in his ear.

Dipper wanted to slam Journal #3 down on the table and show Grunkle Stan every inch of it: every strange sketch, every important note, every drop of devotion and belief that the writer had poured into it. But he knew it wasn't the best idea: what would Grunkle Stan say? He probably wouldn't even believe him.

There was a pause between the two of them as Dipper waited for Grunkle Stan's normal tirade against Dipper's nonsense ideas about the abnormal. But, shockingly, it never came.

"How 'bout the head bumps?" he said instead.

Dipper furrowed his brow.

"In Tim and Gary, when someone got hit in the head? And that huge bump would grow?"

"Oh. Oh! Wait, no, yeah, I know what you're talking about!" Dipper covered his mouth, giggling. "I used to think it was an anthill."

"A _what_?"

"An anthill! Those mounds of dirt ants make and live in."

Recognition fluttered across Grunkle Stan's face, and then he burst out laughing. "Kid, are you _serious_?"

Thinking it over made Dipper start laughing, too. "Yeah, man! Give me a break, I was seven!"

"No excuses for you," snickered Grunkle Stan. "With such a big head, you have _plenty _of room up there for some quality cartoon knowledge. On second thought, though," he added, "I guess physical stuff like bonking someone on the head ain't your forte."

Dipper was surprised—Grunkle Stan didn't sound like he was poking fun anymore. He sounded mindful. "No, not really. That bulky kind of stuff didn't appeal to me. I was watching stuff like, um, detective shows."

"How 'bout now?" Grunkle Stan asked. "You watch TV with us all the time."

"I'm okay with it now," Dipper said, shrugging slightly. "Back then I watched that stuff because it interested me. Now it's…Gravity Falls stuff interests me, too." His cheeks flushed, thinking of Wendy.

Grunkle Stan considered. "Well, whatever you watched, it sure didn't help build your spine. From the looks of it, Gideon got you good."

Dipper harrumphed, crossing his arms over his chest. He wanted to point out that it was Gideon's stupid amulet that had really done all the work, but again: Grunkle Stan wouldn't believe a word he said. "Says the guy who almost sold out his Great-niece for a combined-forces tourist trap."

"I didn't almost _sell her out._" Grunkle Stan rolled his eyes, like Dipper was using the term incorrectly. "Business deals are complicated. It's probably for the best, anyway. You cross the little punk _once_, and he swears vengeance against an entire family. He's a sore loser, if you ask me."

"And a show pony," Dipper added. "Did you know he had dolls made of himself?"

Grunkle Stan shuddered. "Weirdo. And besides…" He peered at Dipper coyly. "If he ever tries to mess with us again, I know who to turn to to help me in kicking him out, right? You beat 'im once, you can beat 'im again."

"Me?" Dipper's eyes widened.

"Sure. If he did this kind of number on you and you _still _won, well…" Grunkle Stan smirked. "It doesn't matter how many violent cartoons you did or didn't watch. You're toughenin' up, kid."

"I—I am?" Dipper cleared his throat and broadened his shoulders, standing up. "W-well, I mean, of course I am! Look at this…um, gun show…and tell me don't see tough!"

Grunkle Stan stared, unimpressed, at Dipper's noodley arms. "Ha! You beat one nine year old and you think you're hot stuff?" He caught Dipper in a headlock, rubbing his hat into his hair. "Do ya, kid? Huh? Do ya?" he teased.

Dipper laughed. "Hey! Hey, I don't think, I know—"

"_Hey!" _Mabel's furious voice reverberated from upstairs. A thumping rattled the kitchen's roof, surely what was Mabel stamping her foot to get their attention. "I know I don't need beauty sleep, but I _want _it! Keep it down or I'll feed you two to the raccoons!"

There was silence, Dipper and Grunkle Stan exchanging a glance. "Pfft. Anthill," Grunkle Stan repeated, biting back a grin.

The two burst into roars of laughter.

Dipper didn't feel as crummy anymore.


End file.
